


Close enough

by sternflammenden



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 05:42:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/858490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sternflammenden/pseuds/sternflammenden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Myranda and Walda play a guessing game.  Part of that weird AU where Team Bolton ends up in the Vale.  </p><p>Written for LJ's gameofships' Hump Day prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close enough

**Author's Note:**

> Roose is still alive in this one. He's just busy doing Bolton Things.

“How does your lord kiss you?” Myranda asked, her eyes twinkling in amusement at Walda’s slightly shocked expression. “Are his lips cold? Does he make you shiver?” She reached out a hand, glittering with rings, and tweaked one of Walda’s braids, unbound but still tightly woven, that hung over her shoulder. As she did, her hand brushed her companion’s breast, and not by accident. Walda was oblivious to the affection, her mind elsewhere, thoughts turned to her sweet Roose and his sharp, odd affections. He was not the dutiful, clingy lover of the songs and the romances that her sisters and lady cousins were so fond of, but he kept her well-satisfied, more so than a dewy-eyed young swain with love poems dripping from his lips and a garland of flowers on his brow.

Walda did not answer. She merely giggled, thinking of the last time that her lord had taken her, his roughened hands running along the rounded curve of her waist, hands squeezing her a bit too tight as he positioned her on top of him, gripping her thighs so hard that she’d had bruises in the shape of fingers later on. He hadn’t kissed her until they had finished, and Walda had slid against him, brushing his lips with her own almost lazily. His mouth had been warm, surprisingly so. 

“Well?” Myranda said, goading her to respond by tugging on her hair again. “Don’t be so silent, Walda! I half-imagine that I have Lord Bolton in my bedchamber instead of his lady wife!” 

Walda grinned then, cheeks dimpling. She rather enjoyed these slumber parties, as her hostess called them, and had grown used to her frank talk about bedroom matters. But there were some things that she would not share with her. Some things which were hers and hers alone to press close. 

“Why don’t we play a game?” Myranda asked, smiling in return. Her eyes sparkled and her breath quickened as she continued. “I’ll…demonstrate…and you tell me if I’m close. Since you’re not forthcoming with the details.” 

Walda thought about it for a moment, wondering exactly how far that her companion was willing to go and found herself slowly nodding. She did find Lady Royce very exciting, and they always had the most interesting discussions, even if Walda was not as talkative as Myranda was, especially on matters such as these. But she had been far too long in the Dreadfort, and had learned that discretion in such matters was crucial, lest the information be used against them. As long as she did not go into specifics… 

“All right then,” Myranda said, scooting closer to Walda on the bed. “Just let me know if I’ve gotten it right.” She wrapped her arms around Walda, thumbs pressing gently into her soft belly. “Does he hold you close, like this?” She nuzzled against the other girl, cheek against cheek. Myranda’s skin was flushed, hot, but smooth and velvety, like a peach, and Walda felt her own face heat with their nearness. “Is this how it is?” She whispered the last in Walda’s ear, her hands sliding to grasp her unbound breasts almost tentatively. 

Walda could not speak for a moment but managed to respond before things progressed further. “Sometimes,” she said, “sometimes he pulls me near, for the warmth.” She blushed, giggling, remembering nights when the snow fell heavily around the Dreadfort, and how Roose had named her his little bedwarmer, although it had been said kindly. 

“Oh, good!” Myranda trilled. “I am doing well, aren’t I?” 

Walda had to admit that, whether or not it was accurate, it was pleasing. 

Myranda cupped her breasts through her shift, and as she did, she pressed Walda gently back upon the bed. Her hair tumbled forward, falling over their faces. They were very close now, and she bent to kiss the other girl, just brushing her lips against her mouth at first, and then going deeper, feeling Walda yield under her touch. Myranda worked her fingers, stroking the other girl’s nipples, feeling them peak under the press of her thumbs. She could hear the pounding of her heart, could feel it against her own body as she slowly slowly lowered herself, feeling her breasts compress against Walda’s, their stomachs pressed together, their legs tangled. Myranda was surprised when Walda’s arms twined around her in kind, pulling her even closer, Walda’s hands caught in her hair, then gripping her shoulders. 

When she finally broke away, she had to ask. “Did I get it right?”

Walda reached for her eagerly, and this time it was her hands that caressed Myranda, her fingers that wandered from waist to hip to thigh, parting the other girl’s legs gently. 

“Close enough,” she replied. “Close enough.”


End file.
